The Last Recital
by Tippy.LaRoux
Summary: Hannah is at the last Christmas dance recital, before she goes to Hogwarts next year.


Houses challenge- Hufflepuff - 2nd year

Additional story - prompt: recital

Constraints - first person

WC: 1060

Looking around, I see the faces of the thirteen other girls, and one boy who has the misfortune of having a pure-blood mother stuck in the old ways. He held the same anxious expression as me. Breathe, it's just a four minute song. Only twelve bars of which will I be in the front. ' _You can do this, Hannah,_ ' I tell myself as we begin the trek from the impromptu dressing room to the stage. Moving helps to release some of the tension. So does picking the invisible lint from the stiff pink tutu.

The walk down the hallway is slow, with our soft soled satin ballet slippers making not a sound on the floor. Giggling quietly, I can see the orchestration in my head as little pink gossamer ghosts are following behind a vulture, leading us to find our next comrade.

When we get to the stage door, Madam Pince turns her sharp beady eyes on us, the fidgeting stops and the entire group is silent. She edges the thick plank door open the slightest bit and faint strings of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty reach my ears. She pushes the door further, and we all follow her in, the last of us shutting the door with a bit more gusto than necessary. Draco immediately shrivels, already expecting a thorough tongue lashing. Luckily for him we are in the wings and not even Madam Pince will do anything to potentially disrupt a performance.

The musty smell of the curtains, and the air warming with the press of bodies around me, elicits the familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Waiting in the wings of the old theater is something I've done every holiday since I can remember. This will be the last year, though, for the Christmas recital. Next year, I will be at Hogwarts all fall and unable to attend dance class.

As I walk onto the darkened stage, my eyes slowly adjust and I seek out my parents. They always sit stage left, halfway back, which makes them easy to pick out. Mom is sitting next to Dad and waving the program in the air. Her smile grounds me. It's just her and I, practicing in the kitchen. Closing my eyes, I imagine the table pushed up against the far wall, and the rugs rolled up underneath it. The chairs are set up in a row, and I use them as an impromptu barre. Remembering that special time I get to spend with Mom after she gets back from the Ministry, bringing the smallest hint of a smile to my face.

Breathe: in through my nose, out through my mouth. Two, three, four times to relax my frame. Madam Pince takes her place in the wings, after making sure we are lined up properly. I put my feet in position and prepare my body from the bottom up. My arms are out to my side, fingers arranged just so, and my head snaps to the front of the stage. The stage lights go on, and suddenly, it is just my classmates and I. It's a magical time when the audience disappears, just from shining a light on me.

' _Remember_ ,' I tell myself, ' _one and two and three and four and. Shuffle, shuffle, ball and chain.'_

I have practiced this dance everyday for the last two months, so as the lights burn, my body knows exactly what to do without me having to think too much. Finding my spot, I spin around and around. The bun on top of my head is held firmly in place by a perfectly executed sticking charm, not a hair out of place. The lights on the stage catching the faceted jewels magically affixed to the skirt and bodice of my costume by my mother. Not daring to look down, I still know how dazzling this costume is. By far, it is the best one I have been able to wear to a recital.

Dip, twirl, arms left, then right. I fly around the stage, hitting every mark. My confidence is soaring as I move to the center of the stage. The other dancers in my class move to second position. The music flows through me, and I feel every muscle flex and contract as my body moves to the beat of the music. The synapses firing in time to the percussion staccato.

My mind clears as I finish my last move, then join the rest of my class for the finale. The piece comes to an end, and we all form a pin-straight line across the stage. My feet go into position and I bow to an audience that is on its feet clapping enthusiastically for the tiny troupe of dancers. Then, we turn as a group to our teacher, Madam Pince, who has what looks interestingly enough, the smallest of upticks to the left of her mouth. It is the least cross I have ever seen her.

We hustle across the stage to meet our teacher waiting for us in the wings. Looking at my fellow classmates, I see euphoric gazes reflected back to me. Beads of sweat had formed at the hairline of each of us while we were on stage as we were all in our own little world, connected by the music and the way our bodies danced together. The exertion of the dance, mixed with the heat of the stage lights have us all panting for breath. Reaching out to my friends, we all form a big mass at the side of the stage before we are ushered out into the hallway by our teacher, who has reverted back to her usual state of part diva, part vulture.

As we are led back into our makeshift dressing room, it is time for the comedown. In my opinion, the worst part of any performance. It's the part after all the endorphins ran their course, and the body starts to chill after being ripped so quickly from the heat of the spotlight it was just getting used to. I look around to my friends as we fall into our own personal cooldown stretches. Some on the barre, others to the floor. Some, who must be crazy, just stand around and chat with their friends.

I will miss this next year, but it sure feels like I went out with a bang.


End file.
